


Coming to Dinner

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Charles needs to learn to say No, Deetzland, Multi, Musicalbabes, Thanksgiving, Uncomfortable dinners, beetlebabes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 06:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21590338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: It's their first Thanksgiving as one big family. Too bad they've got a couple of unwanted guests.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz/Delia Deetz/Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland
Comments: 6
Kudos: 126





	Coming to Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo! Finished this just in time. Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it! Hope you guys enjoy this!

Maxie Deen had an impeccable sense of timing. And an epic sense of entitlement. Charles had to stifle a huff as he marched out from his office to deliver the bad news. Adam, Barbara, and Delia were spending some quality time in the same room, immersed in their own tasks while the tv sounded as background noise and the occasional word of contented chatter arose. He hated to break the tranquility of his partners but this needed to be said now rather than later.

“Ahem,” Charles cleared his throat, “Everyone, I have an announcement to make,”

The other three looked up at him, completely attentive and it made him feel all the worse.

“I have… just received an important phone call and,” the words caught in his throat as three sets of eyes, attentive and expectant, watched him. “Well…” dammit! Why wouldn't the words come, “Maxie Deen is coming over for thanksgiving!”

It came in a rush, as though a dam had burst open, flooding a desert area. There was a beat of silence, then two, then three. And then, a resounding exclamation of, “ _WHAT?_ ” Suddenly Charles was bombarded by questions and opinions. What happened? Why is he coming? Charles thanksgiving is a time for family why didn't you tell him no?

“What could I tell him?” Charles asked helplessly as he sank onto the couch between Adam and Delia, “He's an important business colleague and investor. You can't just _tell_ a person like that no. He'd have me blackballed, and then what would we do? Between the mortgage and other necessities for us living folks we’d fall behind. We'd have to sell the house, we…” and here he looked choked up as he added, “We’d have to _leave_ ,” he glanced at the Maitlands, “And we wouldn't be able to take you with us.”

Barbara strode around the back of the couch and slid her arms around Charles’ neck. Adam and Delia curled in on either side and snuggled close. And something about the reassuring action made him break.

“I'm sorry,” his voice was hoarse, “I didn't want this, I tried to bring the conversation around so that he could spend time somewhere else with his wife. But no, he said that since he never managed to have kids he wants to know what a real family thanksgiving feels like. And between that and the implicit threat of him being able to blackball me… I'm sorry I could protect us from this.”

“Oh Charles,” Barbara murmured, “None of us blame you for this,”

“I imagine it's hard to say no to something like that,” Adam added, “And hey, we can still spend thanksgiving together-”

“Doing what?” Delia asked, “If Maxie can see you he'll want to turn this place into a tourist attraction! I don't want to see that happen to you!”

“Nether do I,” Charles sighed, “If only for your own safety I think you may have to spend thanksgiving in the attic. Maxie loves to make his visits long, so this will last well into the evening.”

“All… all evening?” Barbara asked, sounding a little choked. Clearly she hadn’t been expecting to be sequestered from the family all evening, “I- I mean if that’s necessary then I suppose we can do that.”

“But Barbara! Most normal breathers can’t see us!” Adam huffed, “So why not-”

“Adam,” Barbara intervened, “Maxie was able to see us when Lydia summoned Beetlejuice. As were Charles and Delia. Who’s to say that Maxie wouldn’t be able to see us now?”

“Can’t we test it?” Adam asked.

“And then what?” Barbara countered, “We do parlor tricks to amuse him? He finds a way to make money off us? Adam, there’ll _be_ other thanksgivings.”

“But thanksgiving is a time you’re supposed to spend with _family_ ,” Adam protested, “We’re a family now. All of us, even…” he sighed, “Even Beetlejuice. This is our first thanksgiving as a family and we can’t even celebrate it together properly. I guess I’m more upset about it than I thought,”

Charles sighed and placed an arm around his husband’s shoulder and dropping a kiss at his temple, “I know Adam, I know. Believe me I don’t like it anymore than you do. But my hands are tied. I can’t tell Maxie no, and I can’t risk him finding out you two are still here and trying to make a profit off you. This is the only way I can think of to keep you guys safe.”

Adam had a hold of Charles’ tie in his hand and tucked his head into the crook of his husband’s neck, “I know, I’m sorry I got upset. I didn’t think this would bother me as much as it is. I know it’s just you trying to do your job, but…”

“It’s alright Adam,” Delia gently interjected, “Charles and I don’t like it either. But what’s worse? One day apart, or an eternity of show business?”

Adam and Barbara shuddered at the thought of being summoned for spectacle night after night. Playing parlor tricks for money that -knowing what Charles had told them of Maxie- they would never see. And they would be exactly like caged circus animals, since they couldn’t even leave.

“You do know you can avoid all this by… actually getting married right?” Beetlejuice asked as he popped up from nowhere. The other four started in surprise, and saw Lydia coming down the stairs to join them.

“Sorry,” she apologized on her demon’s behalf, “Beetlejuice is nosy,”

“I like being a part of things,” Beetlejuice shrugged, settling on a vacant armchair while Lydia perched on the arm and curled up beside him, “Anyways, that whole getting married to escape death thing doesn’t just work for demons you know,”

“You mean if… if we got married to the Deetzes, we could get our lives back?” Barbara asked, not quite believing him. Beetlejuice was a known liar after all.

“How would that even work Barbara?” Adam asked, “The whole town knows we’re dead. We still wouldn’t be able to leave the house in that case, and I don’t want to move. Besides,” he turned to Beetlejuice, “We already exchanged vows and nothing happened.”

“Well no shit Sherlock,” Beetlejuice folded his arms, “You need to actually say marriage vows. While that lil ceremony we had back in the attic was cute, really brought a tear to my eyes, you need to actually recite the vows ‘n say ‘I do’ ‘n all that. And if I recall, ya need a parson, preacher, whoever those guys are that are way worse creepy old guys than I am,”

Lydia delivered a light slap to his chest with the back of her hand, “Behave,” she told him.

“I am!” Beetlejuice protested, “That ceremony _was_ adorable. Nothin’ better ‘n true love right babes?” he sent her an exaggeratedly smitten smile and batted his eyes. Lydia scoffed and rolled her eyes with folded arms but the fond smile she couldn’t quite keep hidden gave her away. While none of the parental units, save for Delia, were necessarily _ecstatic_ about the less than platonic nature Lydia’s relationship with the demonic poltergeist had taken; they had to admit it had done wonders for both of them as people and trying to keep them apart had resulted in chaotic misery for everyone involved. They made each other happy, and that was all that mattered.

“Right, well,” Lydia shrugged, “You were only human for less than five minutes Beetlejuice. And you’d never been human before that. I think it’d be different when you have relatives, people you know who know you died, and suddenly you’re just alive again? That’s something too complicated. At best, you’d have weird looks if they could ever leave the house, at worst, you’d probably have the government coming after them for some trumped up charge like tax evasion or whatever. It’s too much hassle for the Maitlands to do anything but stay dead.”

“But if they don’t want Maxie or whoever to see them-” Beetlejuice attempted to argue, folding his arms only to spread them wide. Lydia sighed and placed a kiss against his temple, silencing him as she added,

“It was a good idea, very thoughtful and uncharacteristically altruistic of you. But there’s so many other things that complicate us trying it a second time though.” she looked to the Maitlands and sighed, “While I never thought I would say this; I think Dad’s right, you two might need to stay in the attic that night.”

“I can keep ya company, if ya like,” Beetlejuice offered, “It’ll be just like old times-”

“No!” was the collective shout from everyone else in the room. Unsurprisingly, considering the history they all shared.

“Uh… what I mean is,” Lydia quickly scrambled for an excuse, “You saw how gross and creepy Maxie was last time didn’t you? And that was with his _wife_ in the room. It’s just, you know I’d feel _so much better_ if you were floating around to keep him from going too far.”

Beetlejuice peered at her for a moment, as though trying to detect subterfuge. Unfortunately his fatal flaw was that he always trusted Lydia too much, so he nodded, “Whatever you say babes,”

“Well,” Delia shrugged, “I guess that settles everything then. Come on Barbie, why don’t we go do some yoga, try and balance out all this negative energy.”

“I think I’ll come too,” Adam said, “I haven’t been nearly as good about doing it lately, and I could use the added flexibility.”

Beetlejuice snorted, and Lydia elbowed him before he could make a perverted comment, “You know,” Lydia added, shooting a sidelong glance at her husband. “Maybe I’ll join you guys this time,”

And instantly Beetlejuice was all smiles again, “What a great idea babes, nothin’ better ‘n stretchin the old muscles, right?” he was as eager as a dog that had heard the word walk and instantly run for his leash.

“Ah, ah,” Lydia chided,” _You_ , my little monster,” she said as she pressed a single finger to his nose, “Are going to stay down in the basement until we’re done,”

“Wha-?” and instantly he was like a kicked puppy, “But Lydia, _why_?”

“Because I don’t need you covering the floor in drool because I’m wearing hot pants or whatever I so choose to wear for working out in,” Lydia rolled her eyes as she slid off the arm, “Now get, and if you can manage to behave I’ll think about changing that little rule in the future.”

Beetlejuice deflated, “Yes dear,” he acquiesced, slinking off to the lower floors. It was still a shock to see just how much control Lydia had over the demon because she very rarely exercised it. Lydia shrugged and inclined her head to the Maitlands and Delia,

“Welp, what are we waiting for?” She asked, “Let's get sweating,”

Delia thought their little romance was adorable, and was currently standing with her fist to her mouth, ready to bite down on it because of how excited she was. Lydia caught this expression and narrowed her gaze,

“Don't make a big deal out of this Delia,” she warned, “Or I won't come at all,”

Delia was still to excited to speak without potentially upsetting her step-daughter so she merely nodded and all four of them trudged up to the attic. Charles simply say there and wondered how in hell he’d let his life get so weirdly wonderful.

BJ BJ BJ

As it turned out, the Maitlands agreeing not to risk being seen by Maxie in no way meant that they were willing to make this anything less than the perfect thanksgiving meal regardless. Adam was working on some wooden carvings to decorate the dinner table, as well as rifling through the attic to try and find this fall leaf tablecloth and lace covering set which he said would make the dinner table feel super homey. When Charles had said Maxie didn't really _do_ homey Adam had waved him off,

“Charles if there's one time of year where being old fashioned is acceptable by everyone it's thanksgiving.”

Charles had given up trying to convince his husband otherwise and decided to retreat into the kitchen. Well, clearly Barbara manifested her stress in other ways, which would explain why he saw both his wives fighting over a notebook. Clearly, the blonde liked some semblance of control.

“But Barbie!” Delia was protesting, “I can't eat anything you've thought of!”

“And I'm telling you now Delia,” Barbara countered, “I'm in charge of the cooking. You can't have a fully vegan meal at thanksgiving!”

“But-” Delia protested, trying to get a hold of the lined book and put in some of her ideas.

“No!” Barbara insisted, yanking harder and harder. God they were beautiful when they were mad.

“Nice view, eh Chuckie?” Beetlejuice surprised the other man, nudging him with an elbow, “Two hot chicks fighting.”

Charles wanted to say no it wasn't. Wanted to claim he was better than the base demon who was married to his daughter. But the way the women were pulling back and forth on that notebook with such force was causing interesting ripples along their bodies. And Charles was still just a man. Even so he would sooner die than admit any of that to Beetlejuice, so he just remained silent. It didn’t deter Beetlejuice in the least, only caused him to chuckle lowly.

“Want me to make this even better for ya?” Beetlejuice taunted. Before Charles could answer the demon snapped his fingers and suddenly the women knocked into a bowl of homemade whipped cream, spilling it all over themselves in a naturally impossible way. But did Barbara or Delia notice? No, if anything all it did was further incense their anger at each other. And soon enough they were slipping and sliding against each other as they fought. It wasn't violent, but it was a little cause for alarm. With a low cackle Beetlejuice disappeared, replacing himself with Adam.

“Barbara! Delia! What-” his frantic exclamation petered out as he seemed to have a full realization of what he was seeing, “Are… you… doing?”

“Torture,” Charles answered hoarsely, “They're torturing us, and they don't even realize it.”

“Oh, you think so?” in just as quick an instant, Barbara and Delia were looking at their other partners with folded arms, raised brows, and unimpressed stares. How was it that _they_ were the ones mad when they’d started the whole debacle? And more importantly _why_ were they mad at their husbands instead of the perverted demon who’d dumped the whipped cream on them in the first place?

“Really now boys,” Delia chided, “Was a little whipped cream enough to get you so distracted?”

“Would you be answering that honestly if you were in _our_ position?” Charles countered, slinging a protective arm around Adam, “Our gorgeous wives are fake fighting covered in whipped cream, and you expect us to be _immune_ to that?”

“We do when the issue at hand is bigger than a catfight in whipped cream!” Barbara said sharply, “You two need to help us out here. Maxie Deen isn’t vegan, so therefore making an entire vegan thanksgiving is out of the question, but Delia doesn’t see it that way.”

“A vegan thanksgiving is very much in vogue in New York,” Delia countered with hands on her hips, “Maxie and his wife would love it!”

“Ugh,” Charles put his free hand to his head, “Maxie Deen likes shrimp, which means he isn’t vegan. To put no meat in front of him at all might be taken as a slight against his weight, a less than subtle nudge that he needs to change his dietary habits. But I don’t want to be inconsiderate to your needs either Delia,”

“Why not let her have one?” Adam suggested, “One fully vegan meal, the sides can be all vegetarian, and we can have the turkey for the meat eaters. We know Delia doesn’t eat meat so you won’t need a super big turkey,”

“I think you’re forgetting one thing,” Charles muttered darkly, folding his arms as he thought.

“Which is?”

His gaze was also dark, fixed somewhere else, “That damn demon our daughter’s married to,”

“You know if you want me to be present for a conversation all ya gotta do is say my name, remember Chuck?” Beetlejuice asked as he popped back into the kitchen, “And for your information I don't _have_ to eat breather food, I just do it because Lyds doesn't like making out with me when I have legs and antennae sticking out of my teeth,”

The other four collectively gagged, though whether it was from the idea of eating insects for sustenance, the imagery of bug limbs sticking out of teeth, Lydia actually wanting to kiss the disgusting dead man, or some combination of any of them varied on whose thoughts one wanted to know. A scoff from the demon caught their attention yet again,

“Ya do know that insectivorism is actually super healthy and better for the environment since it helps keep invasive species down right?” Beetlejuice folded his arms and shot them all an unimpressed look, “Also, I been takin’ care of the pests around this place for months, you're _welcome_ by the way.”

“Beetlejuice!” Lydia’s voice rang out as she stepped into the kitchen, “Where in the hell did you-” she stopped as she took stock of the situation, “Is this what had you hopped up like a teenage boy a couple minutes ago?” Her voice was cynical as she eyed Barbara and Delia, still covered in whipped cream. Lydia folded her arms and stared at him.

“ _What_?” Beetlejuice feigned extreme shock and insult, “Who me? Be attracted to anyone other than you? My fallen angel, my cursed bride, my reason for living and dying?”

“My, my, my,” Lydia arched a brow, “You know you give me every petname under the sun when you're feeling guilty. Be honest now, did you cover Barbara and Delia in whipped cream?”

Beetlejuice looked like a hesitant child, but answered nonetheless, “Yes,” he cast his gaze to the ground for a moment, hands behind his back, “But I swear on mom’s severed leg that's all I did. They were catfighting on their own beforehand, I _swear_!” he was on his knees now, clinging to Lydia’s skirts in the hopes she would believe him.

Lydia turned to the others, “Is he telling the truth?” she demanded to know, hands on her hips.

Delia sighed, “Yes,” she admitted, “Barbara and I were fighting over what kind of food to serve at thanksgiving. All he did was dump whipped cream on us to get your father and Adam riled.”

Barbara, Adam, and Charles said nothing, perfectly content to let Beetlejuice get in more trouble than he necessarily deserved. Just because they tolerated the relationship, didn’t mean they were willing to go out of their way to help it run smoothly after all. Lydia folded her arms, unsure of whether or not to believe Delia’s words. She was such a skeptic considering the strange and unusual life she called her own.

“So really, he was doing them a favor, wasn’t he?” she surmised slowly. Then Lydia raised a brow as she looked her maternal figures over, “And you two continued arguing instead of stopping because…?”

“Um… well…” the women looked at each other, still covered in whipped cream. Whatever point they had been trying to prove suddenly didn’t seem so significant now.

“Good god you’re just as bad as him then!” Lydia threw up her hands in exasperation, “Ugh, sick, sexual perversions. If you guys are gonna do that weird sexual stuff, do it in your own bedrooms.“ she shook her head and sighed, “Beetlejuice!” he snapped to attention, “clean up my maternal figures right now,”

“Ugh, Do I _have_ to?” Beetlejuice groaned, never liking to take responsibility for his actions.

“Depends,” Lydia’s shrug was obviously planned, “Do you wanna sleep in the basement tonight?”

“Well obviously not,” Beetlejuice folded his arms a moment before placing them at his hips. His expression was suddenly uncertain as he looked at her firm and unwavering. His lip quivered a little as he asked, “Y-you wouldn’t do that to me would you babes? Honest?”

“Get your ass in gear and we’ll talk about it,” Lydia countered, folding her own arms and staring at him. There were times when the Deetz-Maitlands wondered if part of what had attracted Beetlejuice to Lydia was her ability to project the notion that demonic powers or not, Lydia would kick his ass if he stepped too far out of line. And if that was the case, if the demon was just a masochist.

Beetlejuice huffed and blustered a bit but listened to his wife and with a snap of his fingers Barbara and Delia were clean. If Charles and Adam were disappointed by this fix they were wise enough not to show it. The notebook, however, was not so lucky and had to be trashed, with some further demonic assistance they had a new one ready to write down ideas for the dishes they would need. Barbara compromised and had a good number of vegetables or vegetarian side dishes that Delia would be able to pick and choose from and Delia thought up recipes she knew would be delicious for each one. Adam returned to searching for that linen set for the table and Charles offered to help simply to avoid getting dragged in until they’d need to go grocery shopping. Beetlejuice and Lydia exited with the former begging his spouse not to send him off to the basement and Lydia acting more annoyed than she probably was with him.

BJ BJ BJ

Between the fretting and planning and schoolwork and work work and shenanigans, it wasn't surprising that thanksgiving crept on everyone so suddenly. In what felt like the blink of an eye the big day was on them and Barbara -never more thankful than now for her death turning sleep from a necessity to a luxury- was up at the crack of dawn mixing and preparing. First, making bases and stocks and things that could be chilled until later. Then actual breakfast for the rest of her family. One by one they came down. Adam, not needing to eat like her, cake down for company. Next came Delia, placing a kiss on Adam’s cheek before moving to Barbara for a hug from behind before she settled. Charles came down for a kiss on the lips from his three spouses before tucking into his meal. And last came Lydia, who looked more exhausted than when she went to bed in the first place, and Beetlejuice, who looked entirely too smug and self-satisfied. And wait a moment… were those _hickeys_ Barbara saw poking out from the neckline of Lydia’s rumpled black sleeping shirt as it hung off her tiny frame?

Before she could ask, Lydia started a different line of conversation, “So…” she began, “Are we all dreading this day the way I think we are?”

The soft quiet of companionable eating, sounds of chewing like their own conversation in harmony with the clink of silverware against plate, plate against tabletop as it was gently set down, glass and table as it was picked up and placed back. Everyone knew what their answer would be, yet for some reason no one felt comfortable enough to be honest about it. Adam’s sentiment from what felt like so long ago hung like a lead weight in the air. thanksgiving was about family, and this was supposed to be the first time they all celebrated it _as_ a family. Except they couldn’t, because that ran the risk of Maxie attempting to capitalize on Adam and Barbara and turn them into slaves in their own house. Which, admittedly it could be argued they already were, but haunting restriction perimiters weren’t nearly as chafing when they had the freedom to go wherever and do whatever they pleased within its confines. Being turned into a main attraction would definitely change that perception.

But Lydia was as perceptive as ever, and she went back to playing with her food as she added, “I’ll take that as a yes then. Dad, why couldn’t you have just cancelled or something? Said we were going out of town to visit mom’s relatives? I don’t want to have to deal with him,”

“Lydia I know this is difficult for all of us,” Charles began with a sigh, “But someday you’ll learn that making minor sacrifices for the sake of the future can be a good thing. Yes, we have to put up with Maxie and Sarah for an evening, yes I know he makes you uncomfortable. But the man is a success, and keeping him happy keeps this roof over our heads when I propose business projects and investment opportunities to him. Because of his money, _I_ make money, which means we can all stay together. Do you want to have to move again?”

“I thought we were rich,” Lydia folded her arms and raised a brow at her biological father.

“No,” Charles shook his head, “We are… considerably more well off than most people, I’m not arguing about that. But by today’s standards I would hardly call us rich. Maxie, however, _is_. Not in the upper side of the one percent, but definitely a part of it. Which is why we’ll have to grin and bear it for now. Do you have your outfit picked out for this evening?”

“I was planning on wearing… black,” Lydia announced. Beetlejuice snickered as if it were a really funny joke. Then again, Beetlejuice loved just about anything Lydia did so that was honestly likely the case.

“Lydia,” Delia began, before she shook her head and sighed, “Is it too much to ask for perhaps a bit of color? This is an important dinner for your father, and while I’ve learned not to force changes on you, can I ask you to help make this easier for all of us?”

“You do have so many pretty tops,” Barbara agreed, placing a hand on Delia’s shoulder, “We’d love to see you in them every now and then,”

Lydia looked at them all for a long moment. Then she sighed, “Alright,” she relented, “But don’t say I don’t do anything for you guys,” finished with her plate she stood and headed for the kitchen, before brushing past them all to get dressed, only a simple, “C’mon Beej, help me pick something that’ll help old Maxie keep his eyes _off_ me for the evening,” tossed out along the way.

“I don’t know how you think _I’ll_ be of any help in that matter, but I’m always down for a fashion show babes,” Beetlejuice replied as he followed after her. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. The Deetz-Maitlands all sighed, what a fun start to a sure to be fun day.

“Maxie said he'd be flying in for two today,” Charles began, “I tried to tell him there's no heliport in Winter River but he insisted. So at least the whole town is going to get a spectacle.”

“Well,” Barbara began, trying as always to find the silver lining,“Isn’t that a treat?”

“Do you think we’ll be able to see it from here?” Adam asked, also trying to keep the mood light and optimistic. No one wanted to think about the less than pleasant fact that they weren’t sharing a meal together this thanksgiving.

“You’ll probably be able to hear it,” Charles said, “I don’t know how close to the house he intends to try and park that thing.” he sighed, “Sarah should be… interesting, to say the least,”

“Sarah?” Delia tilted her head to the side, “I thought his wife was named Maxine,”

“Wife number _five_ was Maxine,” Charles sighed, “This is number six.”

“Number six, already?” Adam tilted his head, good god that man went through wives faster than Adam went through wood stain.

“One of the true mysteries of the world is where he keeps finding girls willing to marry him,” Charles shook his head, “Then again, all his exes _do_ get either a nice chunk of alimony change, or a nice settlement in the divorce, pre-nup notwithstanding.”

“Well,” Barbara put her hands on her hips, “Let’s at least make her feel welcome. Delia, can you help me in the kitchen, or do you need to start getting ready?”

“Unfortunately the latter sweetheart,” Delia said, finishing her breakfast and placing a kiss on the other woman’s cheek as she headed to deposit her dirty dishes in the sink, “Charles, you take less time to get ready than I do, why not help her out?”

“Well…” Charles was hesitant, very much aware of how weak he was for Barbara in all her domesticity, especially when she was cooking.

“Please honey?” Barbara put a hand on his shoulder, “I could use the extra set of hands, and you were _such_ a good student,”

The benefit to being in a polyamorous relationship was that you could blatantly flirt with any of your partners secure in the knowledge that you all loved and supported one another regardless of who you spent a certain amount of time with. That being said, Charles believed it was important to spend an equal amount of time with each of his partners individually, and try and spend time with Lydia, and do work. All of which was an impossible task to ask of one man, so individual partner time had been the thing that had inevitably fallen to the wayside. Barbara and Adam didn’t mind too much, they knew what came after death, so time was something that ceased to matter to them unless they were spending it with the ones they loved. Plus, there was the implication that if he was a good help in the kitchen Barbara might reward him, either with food or with affection, either of which sounded amazing at the moment.

“If you need the help,” he shrugged, “So long as I have half an hour before Maxie is supposed to arrive… wait, can we make that an hour? He’s been known to show up earlier or later for the sake of a test,”

“Anything you want,” Barbara promised, “So long as we get started now. Come on,” she tugged at his hand and took his plates, “Adam, are you going to be making sure everything’s set up for our… guests?”

“Sure,” Adam nodded, “That shouldn’t take longer than an hour either.”

“Oh Adam honey?” Delia caught his sleeve, “Can you help me out with something first? You see, I left one of my favorite fall gowns in its box and Charles just left it up on the highest shelf in our closet,”

“Right, tall man Adam Maitland, at your service,” Adam nodded, heading out and upstairs while Barbara pushed Charles into the kitchen. Both women paused and shared a look of extremely satisfied victory and blew each other a kiss before heading off to tend to their other partners.

BJ BJ BJ

By the time Maxie and Sarah were set to arrive Charles and Adam were well and truly relaxed. Charles wasn’t nearly as nervous after a minor incident involving Barbara, flour, and pumpkin spice which had prompted a nice hot shower -among other things- and Adam was a lot less embittered after spending some quality time “adjusting his aura” as Delia had put it. The Maitlands were busy getting everything plated and covered so it would be ready for Charles and Delia to begin serving upon their guests’ arrival, and Delia was checking up on Lydia and Beetlejuice. Unsurprisingly, that had been something she’d been adamant _she_ do.

“Because I’m the only one who won’t get mad at catching them doing what I _know_ we all think they’re doing,” Delia had said with hands firmly on her hips. She had a point, everyone knew they were thinking the same thing concerning what Lydia and her pet demon might be up to, but no one wanted to voice it because no one wanted to admit they were thinking what they were thinking.

Speaking of, Delia came down the steps in record time, a vision in reds, golds, and oranges to complement the season. Charles embraced her, asking where Lydia was.

“She’s finishing getting ready,” Delia answered, “And as for Beetlejuice-”

“Right here dad,” he popped up and gave Charles a little wave, “Lydia kicked me out once we decided on a dress. Which, I’m sure _you’re_ happy about,”

“I’d be happier if you could make yourself scarce too,” Charles sighed, “Not that we don’t want you around-”

“You don’t,” Beetlejuice nodded sagely, clearly at peace with the fact that his father in law didn’t like him overly much. It was, surprisingly mature, but Charles didn’t have the leisure to mull all that over at the moment.

“But Maxie might still have some… lingering issues from your little fiasco the last time he was here.”

“You’d rather I give him the heart attack _after_ we can blame it on the meal?” Beetlejuice asked.

Charles paused, breathing in deeply through his nose and letting it out through his mouth, pressing his hands together in a “god give me strength” sort of motion, “If that’s how you prefer to think about it then fine, whatever. Just please disappear for now, and preferably later. Just… stay invisible if you could.”

“Whatever you say dad,” Beetlejuice saluted and with a snap he was gone. Or invisible. The point was that it was very unlikely that Maxie and Sarah would be able to see him. And right on time too, as the doorbell rang.

“Maxie!” Charles greeted as the man and his new wife, this one a mousy little blonde who looked barely older than Lydia herself, walked in the door.

“Chuck!” Maxie greeted, “Ya ripe old bastard! Been a while hasn’t it?”

“Yes, please,” Charles stepped aside, “Come in,”

Maxie and Sarah entered the house, done over completely from the last time they had seen it. Now a more modernist home country interior that screamed warmth and comfort as opposed to the stark cold minimalism Delia had done when they’d first gotten the house. Maxie seemed… impressed? It was hard to tell as he peered closely at the decor.

“Do some remodelling in here eh Chuck?” Maxie asked, “It looks so different in here,”

“Yes well,” Charles coughed, “There were some… damages to the house, and after speaking with Lydia to ask for her input she wanted something that made her feel a little less… cold. So we settled on this.”

“Good on you,” Maxie commented, sitting down, “Normally I’d have my lawyers here with us, but you know; with the holiday and all, they're off spending time with their _families_.”

“Of course,” Delia commented, “Ah, namaste, Mrs. Deen. I’m Delia, Charles’ wife.”

“Oh, so ya _did_ end up marrying her,” Maxie commented, “And how did little Lydia feel about all that? Can’t imagine she was overly happy, what with Emily gone so soon. She took it hard didn’t she?”

“That was part of the issue that caused the… incident yes,” Charles agreed, “We’ve managed to work everything out though. Our relationship has gotten better, in a way… I suppose I’m thankful for what happened. I’m sorry I let you get caught in the crossfire though,”

“Water under the bridge,” Maxie waved it off, “Speaking of, those ghosts still around? And the man with the crazy hair?”

“Ah yes well, that’s the other reason we redecorated,” Charles laughed nervously, “Apparently they weren’t happy thinking their home was going to be ‘desecrated’ when they left. We promised them we’d bring it back to the way they had liked things and then,” Charles shrugged, “They left, we got a priest to bless the house afterwards anyways but… the ghosts are gone, they’re not here anymore.”

Even though it was a lie of necessity, Charles hated the way guilt settled in the pit of his stomach. The anxiety that he could get caught, that he could anger his important colleague and get blackballed and lose the Maitlands and his home… it was causing him to panic yet again. 

Delia, noticing this said, “Is there anything we can get for you two while we wait on the finishing touches for dinner? Perhaps you’d like me to put the game on Maxie? Charles, why don’t you get our guests some drinks?”

“No, no,” Maxie waved his hand, “I’m fine, football was never really my sport you know. I’d love some wine though, and what about you sweetie?”

“Club soda for me,” Sarah replied, voice sounding as though she’d just started paying attention again, “You know I’m watching my figure,”

“And what a figure to watch,” Maxie quipped, settling with an arm over his wife’s chair. Charles gratefully made his escape into the kitchen, where Adam and Barbara were waiting. Upon seeing haggardness of the other man they rushed over.

“What’s wrong?” they whispered, hands pushing at Charles’ face and fussing over him. In a way, it helped the tension melt away.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s fine,” he assured them, “I just panicked a little. I don’t like lying to Maxie but this is unavoidable.”

“Shh,” Barbara gave him a hug, “You’re gonna be fine. We’re in this together, and once Maxie leaves, we’ll all be able to relax. You’ll do wonderfully,”

“Just breathe,” Adam advised, “In and out.”

When Charles felt he was sufficiently calm he got a glass of wine and a club soda and took another deep breath. Maxie, Sarah, and Delia were sitting around the table chatting. Charles set the glass down in front of his investor and took his own seat, sliding the can of club soda over to Sarah.

“Ah Chuckie!” Maxie greeted, “Ya missed a good conversation,”

“Oh did I?” Charles inquired, missing Delia’s strained smile, “What about?”

“We were just talking about what a disappointment it was that those ghosts of yours were gone,” Maxie explained, “Sarah here was so looking forward to seeing a genuine haunted hows. My baby just _loves_ the supernatural, dontcha sweetie?”

At the mention of the supernatural Sarah’s somewhat blank and faraway eyes lit up, “Oh yes,” she agreed, “I love the supernatural. Tell me about your ghosts Charles, were they as violent and hateful as Maxie said?”

“I… well…” Charles stammared, looking to Delia for help. She shrugged minutely, saying that she hadn’t been able to find a way to dissuade the conversation, “I couldn’t tell you to be honest. Lydia was the only one who could really see them… but that other thing, well, I had to admit he was horrifying,” Charles hoped to _god_ Beetlejuice wasn’t floating nearby somewhere. If the demon heard the other man confessing he’d thought those antics were actually scary he’d never let Charles live it down. Which meant that there would be more juvenile pranks and even more sadistic strains on his blood pressure. The stress of Emily’s passing had nearly given him a heart attack, Charles didn’t know if he could take a house full of spooks 24/7.

“Ah yes,” Maxie pounced on the tidbit like a lion on a bloody carcass, “Where _is_ little miss Lydia anyways Chuck? Ya didn’t send her off to a nunnery on us did ya?”

“Sorry I’m late!” Lydia had always had as good a sense of timing as her mother. Her exclamation was rushed as she hurried down the stairs to join them at the table, “I was finishing getting dressed but I couldn’t find my other sock.”

She was dressed in… oh dear lord. Stripes, red and black stripes. Subtle, to be sure, Charles almost hadn’t noticed it. Her outfit was still predominantly black, with just a splash of coloring in the front panel that ran in a mostly straight line down her torso. And of course, she had high socks to match. Socks that might as well have been stockings considering how high they went. Charles wanted to put his hand to his forehead. He thought she’d have been trying _not_ to provoke Maxie. Or maybe Charles was just being an overprotective father…. Except then he noticed the way Maxie was looking at Lydia. Yeah, nope, not overreacting, not being overprotective. Maxie was not going to be allowed anywhere near his daughter.

“Ah Lydia,” Maxie began, standing and reaching for her hand as he had before the last mess had started, “My, my you’ve only grown more beautiful since the last time I saw you. Was your father trying to hide you from us again, mm?”

His hold was lingering, and Lydia looked visibly uncomfortable even as she plastered on a false and endearing smile. Charles was going to have to do something for her for this. God his daughter was being so helpful with all of this, he was simultaneously so proud of her and so angry on her behalf. While thoughts of murder rolled around in his head, his monster of a son in law stepped up by stepping in to save the day for both of them. Beetlejuice materialized behind Lydia, wide manic smile saying harmless insanity while his eyes screamed murder. With fluid ease he deftly plucked Lydia’s hand out of Maxie’s grip and held it securely within his own, other arm snaking around her waist to pull her close to him,

“Hate ta break it to ya Maxie,” he began, resting his chin on Lydia’s shoulder while he held up her left hand where Lydia’s cursed wedding ring rested securely on her finger. It was quite a rock too that she displayed, more of a collar than a simple band done for the sake of a “green card”, “But this one’s _mine_ ,” he placed a possessive kiss at the corner of her jaw just under her ear and released her, getting nice and close with the shorter, portlier man, “Put your filthy breather paws on her _one more time_ , and let me tell ya; it ain’t gonna be the turkey that’s gettin’ stuffed and served on that silver platter, ya get me?”

Maxie, his expression one of frozen fear and horror, slowly nodded and backed away, sinking into his seat without another word and downing half of his wine in one long continuous sip. Sarah, meanwhile, was absolutely enthralled. Her eyes were wide and eager as she peered closer at the living dead man as he turned his adoring gaze on his little wife who was straightening the lapels of his jacket and his tie as he conjured up a chair and sat down beside Lydia.

“Whaa-” Sarah began, amazed by what she was seeing, “A talking ghost man?”

“Actually,” Charles said tersely, “He’s a striped dead man but I can see where you’d say that,”

While Sarah prattled on and on about how amazing it was to meet an actual dead person, and Beetlejuice decided to not help matters by encouraging her, Maxie turned his attention back to Charles,

“I thought you said all those freaks were gone,” it was the sort of stage-whisper tone that could easily be heard by anyone not distracted by Sarah’s domination of another conversation nearby.

“No,” Charles replied slowly, “I said all the ghosts are gone. As it turns out, he’s technically a demon, so he stuck around.”

“And you actually let her _marry_ that thing?” Maxie’s tone was incredulous, and perhaps rightfully so.

Technically, super specifically technically, he had. But they’d had no choice, and it angered Charles that his investor was insinuating lackluster parenting skills because of it, “Okay, first of all I did not _let_ her-”

But Lydia was ever so skilled at the art of multitasking and thus able to listen in, “Actually dad, you kind of did,”

Yes, he had -again, super specifically under a certain set of duressed circumstances- given his blessing, and his permission. And the two had gotten married. But that had all been part of the plan in order to get rid of him. But Charles was really in no mood to be dealing with semantics so instead he said,

“Delia, would you mind stepping in and providing some context please?”

“Context for what Charles?” Delia tilted her head to the side, “Lydia’s right. I mean, you did give your blessing to marry them. I was under the impression that was that,”

“You really aren’t helping matters,” Charles sighed, “It’s was a trick to try and get rid of him. He wanted some green card into the living world and as Lydia was the only one who could see him he threatened her. We tricked him into doing it and then he died again.”

“So… wait,” Maxie was still a little confused, naturally, he was part of the normal world after all, “If it was all for a trick, did you let her marry him or not? And more importantly; If it’s death do us part, or divorce in my case, is she still technically married to him or not?”

Charles sighed again, “It’s… it’s complicated. Point being, they’re still married according to the powers that be. And might I add, he’s very possessive of my daughter and has a penchant for murder when at a loss. A point I’m sure you got already but, you see why we can’t exactly _oppose_ as much as some of us might like,”

Delia shook her head, “Charles is just a little overprotective Maxie. It’s one of the things he and B- ahem, BJ have in common.”

As Maxie questioned the merits of a minor and a demon being married and of using marriage to the living as a get out of death free card Charles and Delia shrugged; unsure of how many answers they could give without getting in trouble. At least until they were distracted by the fact that Sarah was asking Beetlejuice to do some tricks and prove he wasn’t just good at sleight of hand. And Beetlejuice, ever the show off, was happy to oblige. This was something that continued as food was brought out and served to everyone who was going to eat. Conversation flowed in between minor pranks like making the gravy boat geyser for effect, and the turkey get up and do the salsa on its platter. Sarah was enthralled and kept asking for more and more elaborate feats of showmanship. Maxie kept himself entertained by watching the pranks and trading words with Charles and Delia over wine and whatever food Beetlejuice wasn’t busy animating for the sake of a laugh.

The Maitlands kept the steady stream of plates ready for serving in the kitchen, where they could better hear the sounds of conversation. It was better than sequestering themselves all alone in the attic. And it was almost as good as actually being there. Since Beetlejuice had made himself visible there was no telling what Maxie might or might not be able to see if they wandered out there. But, like much of their afterlives had been so far, they lived vicariously through their partners’ enjoyment of the evening. Even though they felt a little sad it sounded like they were having a good time without them.

Lydia was in a similar boat to the Maitlands. Too weird to converse with the normal adults but not unique or interesting enough to catch Sarah’s attention even though _she_ was the one married to the demon performing parlor tricks for the other woman. Not that Lydia _wanted_ Sarah’s attention, Lydia could tell Sarah’s fascination with the supernatural was a fad, much like Delia’s new age vegan wokeness. Thing was though, Delia was old enough that she had committed, Sarah was just a young, bored trophy wife to a man Lydia had no doubt had plenty of side action. But rather than fuck her yoga instructor like every _other_ desperate Manhattan housewife Sarah was trying to fill the emptiness with a shallow interest in something strange and unusual for the sake of being called weird and quirky by the other socialite spouses.

And no, Lydia wasn’t _jealous_ of Sarah monopolizing Beej’s undivided attention that was usually solely focused on her. Lydia wasn’t the jealous type. Pfft, as if. If Beetlejuice wanted to show off for some easily impressed yuppie that was none of her concern. And yet… the longer this went on, past dinner and onto dessert, the more irritated Lydia got. With her parent’s casual ignorance of her, with Maxie’s ignorance of his own damn _wife_ , and especially with Beetlejuice. She knew he hadn’t had a captive audience that wasn’t actually captive for at least a century or two, and he would have preferred making them scream if Lydia hadn’t made him promise to play nice for just one evening, but did he really need to show off through the entire meal? The straw that really broke the camel’s back was when -with Sarah’s permission- Beetlejuice used a bit of his power to possess her body and puppet it about like a marionette on strings. He even made her float. Beetlejuie had never possessed _her_ , he’d never even asked if he could _try_. Which, granted, Lydia probably wouldn’t have allowed anyways. But the point was he could have bothered to _ask_. Considering all the weird stuff they’d done while trying to explore the borders of their relationship possession hardly seemed like something he would have avoided this long. Sarah floated back down to her seat harmlessly and the other three clapped politely. Sarah was so excited that she bypassed Lydia completely in order to pounce on Beetlejuice,

“Ohmigod,” the way she said it it honestly sounded like a singular word, “You just _have_ to come back to New York with us Stripes! My girlfriends will all be _so_ jealous that I can conjure an _actual demon_. And I'm sure Moxie would make a mint off of you. We'd be rich, well, richer in my case but still!”

Lydia scoffed, as if Beetlejuice would trade fame and fortune for… Wait a moment. Oh no. Fame, attention, and a shitton of money to go along with it. Lydia could see the wheels turning in his multicolored head already. No. No, no, _hell_ no. This farce of a charade stopped here. With perhaps more force than strictly necessary Lydia stood up and planted her hands on the dinner table, her chair scooting back with a groan of protest as she did so.

Their undivided attention on her Lydia cleated her throat, “Excuse me,” she said, polite but barely holding back murderous rage through her clenched teeth. She took a deep breath and continued, “It seems I need to have a _word_ with my husband. If you would excuse us,”

She grabbed a tight hold on Beetlejuice’s tie and yanked him along up towards the second floor. He verbally protested but did nothing to escape her grip. Once they were far enough so as to be out of earshot Lydia used her momentum to swing him around and slam him into the wall. She braced her arms against the wall, but it was a futile attempt to cage him in and intimidate him and they both knew it. Beetlejuice wasn't scared, just confused.

“Babes?” He asked, “What's the matter? Why are you so mad?”

“Who the _hell_ do you think you are Beetlejuice?” Lydia seethed, “Tell me; who. Do. You. Think. You are?”

“I'm a demon from hell?” Beetlejuice offered, unsure of what sort of answer she wanted from him. He didn't understand why she was mad at him. What had he done? He'd stayed invisible until Maxie had been a real creep, and then he'd stepped in so Lydia, and by extension old Chuck, hadn't gotten in trouble with the investor. And then, he'd been keeping the dumbass wife busy with petty parlor tricks so she wouldn't make Lydia want to off herself because of the utterly inane bullshit that spilled forth from this chick’s mouth. Yeah, it was sprinkled with bits and pieces of stuff that was occult, but it was the same sort of shallow, level one shit that anyone could find from a damn Google search. Honestly Beetlejuice was glad Lydia had pulled him away, he was very close to teetering. If Sarah was so obsessed with the whole being dead thing he'd gladly introduce her to the Netherworld earlier than she probably should have.

Lydia’s raises brow and folded arms told him she was both unimpressed and that that wasn't the right answer. He tried again,

“The ghost with the most? Um… a terror to the rest of your family? The son of an alcoholic bitch and a neglectful father!”

“I'm sorry, _you're_ the one who blackmailed me into marrying you and now you've just _forgotten_ that little fact of what it makes you?” Lydia took hold of his tie and yanked his face down closer to hers, “Who, are you Beetlejuice?”

She'd mentioned the married thing for a reason. Maybe that was important? Married, he was married. Lydia was his bride; no, no, she was his _wife_. Which made him…

“I'm your husband?” He tried again.

Lydia's grip on his tie tightened and she pulled again. This time his face crashed into hers as she molded her lips to his. Well, Beetlejuice didn't know what he'd been expecting when Lydia had pulled him up here to talk, but this sure as hell hadn't been it. Their tongues curled together and by the time he remembered Lydia still needed to breathe and broke free to give her some air he found she was up in his arms with her legs firmly circled around his waist. Her hair was mused and her eyes were glazed with rage fueled lust. She looked down at him as she panted, chest straining against her bodice,

“That's right,” she told him as her pulse slowly settled, “You're my husband. _My_ husband, got that? You belong to _me_ Beetlejuice, and I'm not letting some plastic bimbo tote you off to New York to show off like some new yappy little purse dog. Do you understand?”

He mutely nodded, still trying to process everything while looking at Lydia with her kiss swollen lips and fighting off thoughts of what else he'd like to do to her. And then it clicked,

“Wait… are you _jealous_ of that plastic bimbo downstairs?” He couldn't help the semblance of a smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, turning it crooked.

“What? No!” Lydia retorted, but there was an embarrassed flush to her cheeks as she turned her gaze away from him, “That's ridiculous!”

“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning in to nibble at her neck, “It is. As if I'd prefer some cheap doll to my beautiful,” peck, “Gorgeous,” peck, “Terrifying,” peck, “Mortal bride.”

Lydia gave a coy smirk and leaned in, “Good to know I'm better than that Barbie doll. But just to be on the safe side,” she pushed his collar to the side and bit down, _hard_. Since he had no functioning circulatory system a normal hickey was out of the question. But she could leave a nice ring of teeth marks in his flesh, “There,” Lydia said as she finished, wiping her mouth off, “Because apparently Mrs. Maxie Deen doesn't know how to keep her hands off someone else’s things, and that ring didn't do much to deter her,”

“Fuck me babes,” Beetlejuice groaned, “And fuck that shit, can't we just hole up in your room for the rest of the evening? I've got a ton of things I wanna do to ya.”

“Oh my monster,” Lydia purred as she slid down along his body, landing lower than she needed to and sliding her way back up, “There are so many things I want to do to _you_ too. But we should head back downstairs before they get suspicious,”

“But Lydia-!” Beetlejuice whined “You can't leave me like this!”

“Hm,” Lydia purred, “Can't I?”

“ _Please_!” He would beg, he would beg a thousand times over if it got her to help him out here.

“Mm, poor baby,” Lydia stuck her lower lip out, “Well, let's see what that tablecloth of Adam’s can hide, shall we?”

He gave her a wicked grin, “You are my kinda woman babes,”

“I know _you_ love it,” Lydia tossed over her shoulder as she began to saunter away.

BJ BJ BJ

The Deetzes and the Deens had a bit of an awkward spell after Lydia quickly exited with Beetlejuice in tow. At least they did until Sarah turned her full pouty lip on Maxie and said,

“Moxie darling, I want that ghost man. Get him for me?”

“Of course of course sweetheart,” Maxie assured her. Turning to Charles he said, “Alright Chuckie, how much ya want for him?”

Charles sputtered, almost choking on his drink, “Wh-Pardon?”

“The stripey ghost man,” Maxie reiterated, “How much ya want for him?”

“Maxie I'm sorry but my daughter’s husband isn't for sale,” Charles said through gritted teeth. Oh dear, he could tell by the set of Maxie’s expression this wasn't going to be let go of easily, “There are… rules, governing their union-”

“Chuckie, Chuckie, Chuckie,” Maxie shook his head and sighed, “Ya already lost me those two spooks from the first dinner. Now you got a genuine haunting machine and you don’t wanna make money off him? Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft,”

“Well, I-” Charles began, unsure of how to answer this. If he said anything, he might anger Maxie, but if he didn’t, Lydia would lose someone she cared about. And while Charles didn’t care much for Beetlejuice, he cared about Lydia, who cared about the demon. There was no way Charles was letting Beetlejuice get bought like some sort of dime store show dog, if only for Lydia’s sake.

“Clock’s tickin’ Chuck,” Maxie tapped at his watch, “And believe me, with every passing minute I’ll be offerin’ ya less for him.”

“He’s not for sale!” Delia cried. The Maitlands, now uncaring if Maxie saw them or not when their partners were so obviously distressed by this development, left the kitchen and came to stand behind their spouses.

Maxie and Sarah didn’t see them at all, which said a lot as to how supernaturally inclined they both were. Lydia and Beetlejuice noticed the tense atmosphere and paused on the landing. Whatever was happening here, it didn’t look good. Charles was tense and torn. Delia was obviously upset, Maxie had the expression of a shark going in for the kill, and Sarah was bored and playing with her phone. The Maitlands were the ones who noticed them, but motioned for the other two not to say anything either. What was an argument about Beetlejuice was emblematic of so much more. More that Charles had wanted to but been afraid to say for fear of losing his family. But with ghostly hands of reassurance on his shoulder, Charles felt the strength to say what needed to be said.

“Maxie,” Charles began quietly, “I have been your colleague for almost twenty-five years now. I’ve always made you good money, helped you with sound business decisions, looked past your flaws because you’re one of the best. I have done everything in my power to make you money and make you as happy as any business man could make another. And you repay me by telling me instead of spending thanksgiving with my family, I need to entertain you and your wife, you blatantly hit on my daughter with your wife in the room -a wife who might I add is barely older than Lydia herself. And when her husband not only steps in like a real man would to protect her, but entertains your wife for the majority of the evening to the point where it upset _my daughter_ enough for her to drag him off for a lecture; you treat him like he’s some commodity to be bought and sold as you please. 

“Let me tell you now, Beetlejuice is not the man I envisioned for Lydia. He’s gross, and disgusting, and a filthy lecherous pervert older than dirt and a dead demon man on top of it. He’s rude and he’s crude and he’s absolutely juvenile. I don’t like him, and only gave my blessing on their marriage so Lydia could send him back to hell where he came from. But like it or not, he’s the man my daughter married. He’s the man my daughter _chose_ to stay married to, and he’s the man who makes my daughter happier than she had been in the months following Emily’s death. Do I like him? No. Will I ever like him? Probably not. But I am _not_ going to sit here and let you try and take away someone that makes Lydia so happy, on a day that’s about family and togetherness. Let me repeat this to you Maxie Deen; Beetlejuice is _not_ for sale, and if you and Sarah don’t like that you are very much welcome to leave.”

The silence that resounded after that last declaration faded from the air was deafening. Charles was panting, heart pounding and adrenaline pumping like heroin in his system. God that had been such a rush. And thankfully the stimulant was keeping the worries of all repercussions at bay for the moment. Even Sarah had set down her phone in order to look at the other man in shock. Beetlejuice had both his hands over his mouth, mirroring Lydia’s own expression. Never had anyone in that room heard Charles speak about Beetlejuice so candidly yet supportively. Maxie’s expression though, was inscrutable. For a long, long moment, once the endorphins wore off, Charles held his breath; now very much afraid. But he wouldn’t take any of it back. He had made enough sacrifices for Maxie’s willful and imposing nature. He’d relegated the Maitlands into hiding so he could host this damn dinner -clearly unnecessary since the other man couldn’t see them- and given up a first thanksgiving with his whole family _as_ a family for this. And then Maxie had had the gall to try and get Charles to sell his daughter’s husband. Had it been any other man, one less deserving of Lydia’s affections (though to be fair Charles wasn’t exactly sure that Beetlejuice _was_ nevertheless the demon had them), one less willing to stand up and be a man when Lydia had been placed in danger that Charles couldn’t have extracted her from and she couldn’t have saved herself from without it reflecting badly on her father, he might have considered it. But Lydia would never forgive him, and Beetlejuice was his own being. Beetlejuice at least deserved the courtesy of making his own choice.

And then, Maxie began to laugh. A deep, soul rumbling, belly aching laugh. A laugh that went on just long enough to make Charles question the other man’s sanity. When he recovered, Maxie slapped the table with enough force to make the flatware shake.

“ _There’s_ the Charles Deetz I know!” Maxie exclaimed excitedly, “Damn Chuck, for a moment I thought ya really _had_ gone soft!”

“I-” between the enormous amount of mental strength it had taken for Charles to say what he’d said and the unexpected reaction of his investor, it was safe to say that Charles had short-circuited just a little, “What?”

“I was testin’ ya!” Maxie explained, beginning to chuckle again, “Y’see, after that whole Gated Community/Haunted House disaster I noticed you were rolling over on your back to try and keep me happy. But Chuck, ass kissin’s no way to do real business. Ya gotta be willin’ to do what it takes _and_ know when a line has been crossed. I was hopin’ ya’d tell me what for when I called to tell ya I was comin’ down for today. You’re right after all,” Maxie slid an arm around Sarah’s waist, “Thanksgivin’ is a time for _family_. Even one as…” he looked up to Lydia and Beetlejuice, “Strange and unusual as yours is. I’m glad ya finally got the balls to stand up to me Chuck. Now this means we can really start to make some money, _after_ the holiday’s over,” he straightened out the lapels on his jacket and cleared his throat, “Anyways, we’d better get goin’ Sarah,”

“Going?” Charles repeated dumbly, “Where are you-”

“We’ve got a plane to Bali to catch. A little mini vacation to celebrate family and all that,” Maxie explained as he and Sarah started heading for the door, “This was fun though Chuck, we’ll have to do it again next year!”

“Absolutely not,” Charles stated as he followed after them. Maxie just laughed again,

“Good on you, I like a man who’s honest but decisive. Good business sense with those ones Chuck. Don’t forget that. And happy turkey day everyone!”

And with a slam of the door, with Charles slumped yet bracing himself against it, Maxie and Sarah Deen were gone. The Maitlands went to help Charles over to the couch. Over. It was over. It was finally, _finally_ over. And Charles couldn’t help but laugh to help express the pain he was feeling. A test. It had all been nothing more than a test. He wouldn’t have wasted a thanksgiving if he’d had the courage to say something at the very beginning. Charles wanted to cry. But someone seemed ready to beat him to it.

“Hey um, Chuck,” Beetlejuice began, sitting down in the armchair near the couch, “Look… not that I wanna make a big damn deal about this or anything but -thanks. Thanks for stickin’ up for me like that. It…” Beetlejuice took a breath in to help keep his composure, “It really meant a lot to me. I know ya don’t like me, but… I never had a dad. Never knew what it might be like to have a good parent even. I’m not fond of parents for obvious reasons but- I’m glad Lydia’s got you.”

Charles didn’t know what to make of that uncommon display of sincerity towards him from the demon, so he simply said, “Like it or not, we’re family. That’s what families do.”

Beetlejuice sniffled, “Excuse me I gotta- I got something in my eye!” and with a poof he was gone. Lydia let out a hitched sigh as she made her way down and gave her father a hug.

“Thanks Dad,” she whispered into his ear before pulling away, “Well,” she said decisively, hands on her hips, “I’d better go check on waterworks upstairs. Remember, if you guys are gonna get kinky, do it in your own rooms.”

And with that she picked up her skirts and headed up the stairs. The Maitlands and Delia all curled up besides Charles on the couch.

“This has been… an exhausting day,” Charles sighed as he cuddled up with all of them, “Adam, Barbara, I’m sorry I made you miss spending thanksgiving with us for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Adam said, placing a kiss on the other man’s cheek, “You were doing what you thought was best for all of us. Besides, Barbara and I have plenty of time on our hands. Next thanksgiving will be here before we know it.”

“And this time,” Barbara added, “We’re spending it together.”

“That’s a promise,” Delia agreed. Arms overlapped and hands joined and they all simply sat there, content to just _be_ for a moment after the weeks of stress they’d endured for this day. There was a pleasant warmth that buzzed from the living bodies to the ghostly ones, like an electrical current. A blanket of warmth and contentment that made them all drowsy. Lazy kisses were pressed to cheeks, peppered along necks, sweetly delivered to lips in a manner not quite chaste but not overly amorous either.

“Hmm,” Barbara hummed lazily, on a sort of warmth and comfort high as she idly noticed the striking of the clock, “You know what all this means?”

“What?” the others asked, exhaustion and relaxation evident in their voices.

“With thanksgiving over,” Barbara continued through a yawn, “That means it’s time to get ready for Christmas.”

“Christmas?” Adam and Delia repeated, both of them sounding more alert and awake than a scant moment ago.

And that was when Barbara realized her mistake, “Wait, no, I didn’t-”

But it was too late. Adam and Delia were on their feet in an instant, chattering on and on about digging out the decorations now, and did they want a real tree or a fake tree, and where did we last put the mistletoe Adam? Delia do you remember what we did with my Christmas Village and the little train set I have to circle it? Barbara stifled a groan, moving closer to Charles and burying her face in his neck while he rubbed soothing circles on her hip as he tilted his head back and let the backdrop of excited conversation lull him into sleep. What he dreamed of wasn’t sugarplums or snowflakes, but of a nicely set dinner with an exquisitely prepared meal set out along its surface. Six chairs gathered around its perimeter all containing an occupant. Muffled conversation and laughter filled his ears as he reached for plates and made toasts. A toast to family, and to a happy thanksgiving. And in his sleep, Charles smiled. The most wonderful time of the year indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. This story was a labor of love and I hoped you loved reading it as much as I loved writing it. Thank you for reading, and I'll see you all next time Netherlings. And when I do, be prepared, for the winter season, she approaches.


End file.
